


monotony and the rising tide

by sternenrotz



Series: broken hearts hurt but they make us strong (queer horror verse) [14]
Category: The Horrors (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sex, Internalized Misogyny, Masturbation, Nonbinary Character, Other, but i'll summarise that her sense of self is extremely skewed, i'm hesitant to call it that given josh's gender identity, self objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenrotz/pseuds/sternenrotz
Summary: Josh invites Tom over for some fun.





	monotony and the rising tide

**Author's Note:**

> titled after "I Come With Knives" by IAMX.
> 
> set in early 2010. Josh doesn't label her gender identity, but uses she/her pronouns in this fic. Faris presently identifies as a cis man, Rhys is a trans girl and her chosen name is Dilys. Tom is also a cis man.

This is number six. Or seven.

Josh finishes pouring in the whiskey into the bottom inch of the tumbler, and she tops it off with an inch of cola. The big gulp she takes tastes of rubbing alcohol, sugar, fizz, bitter oakwood and more fizz, in that order, and her head whirrs. In the shell of her bra, a text message buzzes onto her phone.

Actually, two messages, _Steve frm pub_ and _Achille french barman_. Josh reads the first few words of each and doesn’t bother with the rest.

Another big swig.

With so many names and numbers in her contacts, she can barely recall the face attached when she looks for the next bloke to text, but as soon as she sees _Faris X_ , she scrolls faster. She only bought this phone a year ago, but for some reason he still warranted the kiss mark at that time.

Now her glass is empty.

Josh mixes herself drink number eight. _Tom Horror_ , Tom seems like a safe bet. She opens a new text message and types in, _you busy? Im bored off my face, come over_

Once the text has sent, Josh stuffs the phone back next to her tit where it belongs. She daintily sips her whiskey and coke, a steady burn as it goes down her gullet pipe, and she mentally gives herself the once-over. Matching bra and fuck-me-knickers, check, tits-out dress, check, heels that make her legs look endless, check. Tonight is Wednesday, and she shaved her legs on Saturday, but in the thigh-high stockings it’s not that noticeable.

Another sip.

She had too much already to suck Tom’s dick down to the root, but her cunt is stirring and ready for it. Maybe she’ll take him up her arse, bent over the side of the bed, once she’s worn sore from fucking. And maybe, she should start without him. One hand sneaks under her skirt and into her knickers, but after a moment, she reconsiders and simply snags the pants in the crease of her thigh instead.

Another sip.

Her cunt feels foreign and coarse under the touch, so she licks her fingers and tries again. Tom loves fucking her, though, and he loves her cunt. He probably loves all her holes equally, and Josh loves taking his cock all the way into her throat and spreading her mouth open for his jizz. The very first time they shagged, Tom managed five minutes of doing her from behind before he came on her face, but by now, he can easily pound her for hours. One time, he took photos at the end to show her, the flesh around her cunt puffy and raw with fucking so she couldn’t sit the next day, and she wants exactly that for tonight.

She takes another swig and finishes her drink.

The two fingers rubbing up her slit and against the side of her clit aren’t working. Josh needs someone else’s hands on her, and she pours herself the next drink.

Number nine tastes of burning alcohol and charred wood and not much else. No reply from Tom when she checks her phone for any new texts.

_Im horny and my cunt has yr name written over it boy_

Josh sends the text over to Tom and shoves two fingers in her hole. Apparently, a text did come in when she was writing the new one, but it’s from Faris, of all people. She doesn’t read it.

The next swig makes her stomach curdle. She must’ve messed up the ratio on this one, but it hurts less on the swig after.

Tom loves her tits, too. Her free hand pops the left one from her bra and out of her slaggy neckline, and she twiddles the nipple between her thumb and pointer. Tonight she’ll take his cock in her cleavage, so the head can snub in and out of her lips while he fucks her, after he gives her bruises all over. Tom sucks hickeys into the flesh of her tits and slaps them just before he slots his cock in her mouth, and he’ll finish all over them when he doesn’t do it in her mouth, too.

Making him come is probably her favourite part of fucking Tom, and she looks forward to that even more than to his cock stretching out her cunt. If she wasn’t waiting for him to ring the doorbell and peel her out of her clothes, she’d get naked right away.

Another message from Faris, no message from Tom. Josh snaps a photo at the awkward self-shot angle, and it’s blurrier than she would’ve liked when she checks it, but good enough to send anyway. Best to show Tom what he’s missing out on.

He only lives ten minutes away on the bus, so maybe he’s already on his way. Hopefully, his dick is half-hard in his trousers already, and that picture’s going to wind him up even more. She’d take a second one of her cunt, but instead, she only shoves her fingers back in.

Drink nine finished.

Her eyes go squinty when she focuses on setting the tumbler back onto the tabletop, unsure she wants to enter the double digits just yet. Not before Tom gets here.

Tom’s got a lovely cock, with a pink head the same colour as his lips, and just enough length and girth to really make her feel it when he pushes in. He doesn’t shave his pubes smooth the way Faris used to do, but Josh loves burying her nose in the coarse hair at the base of his cock all the more.

She needs to stop thinking about Faris.

Faris never wanted to do blow jobs or anal. Maybe that should have been her first clue. For one of her birthdays, Tom gifted her sexual favours, and she made him teach her how to deepthroat. She barely remembers the last time she had sex with Faris. The summer they recorded the album, definitely, and probably in his bed one morning. Josh can’t remember what it felt like, either. Before Faris got dumped by the last girl and then tried to drink himself to death. And before what came after that.

Her cunt feels flaccid. When she checks her phone one more time, Tom has replied.

_on your street now. 2 mins_

She won’t bother with a reply to that.

Josh experimentally crosses and uncrosses her legs to feel the bare drag of skin on skin, and maybe she should take her knickers off for good. On the other hand, she loves it too much when Tom pushes them aside or eases them down her bum cheeks. Maybe she’ll just pull them back into place, instead. Her tit goes back in her bra as well, and she tucks her phone in alongside after checking her makeup in the screen’s reflection once more.

Just as soon, the doorbell rings. Finally.

Josh realises she’s much drunker than she thought when she stands up. Her head reels and her legs wobble in the hooker shoes, like walking on two slutty stilts. Come to think of it, she’s tall enough, and Tom’s going to smack her ass no matter how perky it looks. No heels.

She still takes a few split seconds of holding onto the sofa’s edge until her eyes refocus, before, finally, she walks to the door and buzzes Tom in.

Footsteps resonate and get louder outside as Tom climbs up the stairwell to her second-story flat, and Josh realises she should probably open the door. Faris still has her spare key, but she can’t remember why she gave it to him now.

“Hey,” Josh drawls.

“Hey. Evening.”

Tom smells of his posh, musky cologne, and he looks much the same as he always does. Josh does love a man in a suit. He accepts the hug, and a boozy kiss, too, and one of them slams the door shut.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Josh slurs into his ear, and she hopes it comes off as sleazy instead of sloshed. “Come. Let’s go to my bedroom.”

Her hands want to find his waist, his hips, his cock, but before that, Tom grips her shoulders and shoves her off.

“Josh,” he says in his most straight-laced boring voice. Obviously, he hasn’t been drinking tonight. “You are pissed.”

So, Josh laughs. What else is she supposed to do but laugh?

“I’m _not_ ,” she starts with the giggles bubbling up into her voice, but she realises as soon Tom won’t believe that. “I’m fine. I’m just a bit tipsy.” Her upper arms press into her tits and push them out, and she adds, “I’ll mix you a drink.”

The flat and furniture move too quickly around her when she grabs a glass from the kitchen cabinet. One of the nice ones, sturdy with a crystal exterior, and her hand only shakes briefly when she takes it out, too. The whiskey and mixer is still in the living room.

Tom is sat politely and suited-up on one settee when Josh comes in and plants herself on the other. His eyes swing from her high heels on the floor to her body, her hands that pick up the unscrewed bottle of Jim Beam and then uncap the Coke.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

Ten to one. Two drinks, both with the same reasonable ratio. Tom’s eyes narrow when he sniffs at his, but he takes a swig anyway. Josh sips in turn.

“So,” she drawls over the rim of the glass, and she gives herself the once-over one more time.

Tits out, hair fluffy at the sides but smooth across her forehead, almost like a bob. Something about a pageboy cut makes men go wild, Dilys once said that to her with reasonable authority. The last time she checked her face, her makeup was a bit smudged around the eyes, but her lips are still intact. Smudge proof.

“What is it you were thinking about?”

Josh slowly raises one leg to cross it over the other, making sure Tom’s gaze still follows the motion. She regrets keeping her knickers on now.

“When you were heading over here? What you wanted to do?”

Tom exhales very gently and sips his drink again, and he sets it down on the coffee table.

“This isn’t what I expected,” he finally says.

A nervous laugh spills out of Josh. This time, it has absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol. In the best tipsy clueless voice she can muster up, she asks, “What do you _mean_?”

“I mean, for starters, I thought you’d be more sober.”

Most men go wild for the unbridled drunken girl routine, too.

“Not however many drinks you’re in deep.”

“That’s none of your business.” At least one of her _S_ s comes out slurred.

Tom’s so annoying.

Josh has to laugh again at how annoying he’s being. Her free hand caresses the hemline of her skirt and the slutty stockings beneath, and she leans forward in her seat so Tom can see her tits pushed up and out by the bra.

“Maybe you should drink some more.”

Tom avoids her gaze and her body. His eyes are captivated by the dark brown liquid in his glass instead.

“Maybe I should,” he feebly says.

Josh couldn’t tell if she noticed before, but his eyes are unnaturally big. Like an alien’s. That realisation makes her laugh, too.

“This’s nice as well, innit,” she says. Her drink tastes so, so sweet. “Just two friends. Two pals on the piss together.”

Now, she leans back, but she regrets it as soon as the movement gets to her head and makes it spin. Another sip helps.

Tom shakes his head, but he still mixes himself a second drink.

Josh wishes they had background music, something to give them a conversation topic or get Tom in the mood to fuck. Dilys doesn’t have a foolsafe playlist to get men into bed, but Tom’s been conditioned by years of exposure to vintage porn. Any sleazy synth line will give him a stiffie.

More than the daze and the vertigo, what Josh likes about being pissed is that it makes her feel warm. The heat from her bloodstream seeps into her muscles to untense and all the way into her bones and turns them red and malleable, and she sinks into her loveseat.

When Tom pours himself drink number three, score still at ten for her, he finally speaks again.

“So, is there…” he starts, and his voice already begins to soften at the edges. Tom’s not a lightweight, but he drops the straight-laced facade pretty easily once he has a drink in him. “Is there a reason you’re just drinking by yourself tonight, then?”

Josh pulls a face and makes a vague sound she hopes conveys everything she’s not in the mood to put into a sentence.

Tom laughs at her. “Drunk,” he repeats. “You’re so drunk,” he says, and he shakes his head. This time, it’s a lot more amicable.

Josh snorts. “Dickhead.”

Her drink is empty now. Next is number eleven.

“I don’t know,” she says then. “I just wasn’t… Mike’s on a date with her boyfriend tonight, and Di and Joe were going out with some of the girls. So I didn’t want to intrude.”

Eleven tastes of sugary bliss and bitter relief.

“Didn’t wanna be a third wheel,” Tom fills in the blanks, and Josh can’t place the emotion that raises the corners of his mouth when he says it. “I got a text from Faris earlier, that he invited you out for drinks but you weren’t coming.”

“Faris…” Josh drinks the entire rest of eleven in one long swig. “Oh, he’s a fucking cunt.”

Whether it’s the alcohol or saying the word aloud, she doesn’t know. But her throat suddenly spasms. And unspasms, and locks up again, and she slaps one hand onto her mouth.

“Are you okay?”

The room rotates in disgusting light, and Josh coughs. All the way down her front and onto her tits and her skimpy dress. She gags and coughs and spits a string of dirty saliva onto her hand, and as soon, the second wave forces itself from her throat.

“Jesus Christ.”

One more time, Josh pukes down her front, all the way onto the ugly living room carpet. She feels like that, ugly. And filthy and boozy and full of that word, _Faris_. It even sounds like a retch in her head.

Tom’s hand lays itself onto the top of her back when it’s over, or maybe it’s been there the whole time. Every other sensation is back now, the itchy tears that have slipped from her eyes and the warm sick in her lap, all over her stockings. She better not start seriously crying, not with all the makeup she’s got on. One hand wipes the unidentified viscous mash of spit, snot and sick from her chin, and it smells probably worse than it feels.

“Here. Can you stand?”

Josh props herself up on the arm of the couch just fine, but her messy hand finds Tom’s dry one anyway. She hates Tom and his clean ironed shirt, his cologne and his pristine face. And his voice, and that he’s _nice_.

The mishmash that comes from her mouth is half _I’m sorry_ , half _I hate you_ , but it doesn’t sound much like either of those.

“Hush,” Tom whispers. “I’ll clean up the mess for you. Do you just want to get a drink of water?”

Josh wants to tell him to fuck off, but instead, she merely lays her dirty hand onto his shoulder.

“Alright, Bear Cub?”

“Shut up.”

At least she’s in her own flat where she can find the way to the bedroom blindly. Her knees feel like gelatinous vomit, mouth fuzzy with obscure sand, and she strips off before she can collapse onto the mattress. The light in this room is too bright, too.

Josh’s fingers meet on her back, above the little silver bit of her zip, and she pulls it all the way down. The dress falls onto the wooden floor, sick stains and all, and she peels her stockings off next. Under the lamp on the bedside, her legs look like pasty chicken skin.

Like a blob with two round titties and two chicken legs, she feels like that, a drunk blob, but next, she takes her stained bra off, and her titties disappear, too. Josh slips off her hooker knickers, the weird gauzey fabric uncomfortable in the folds of her minge and the crack of her arse now, and she drops them onto the ground. She’ll clean everything up tomorrow, or maybe Tom will do it for her, too. He’s really just as much of a cunt as Faris is, but in the opposite way.

Her ridiculous ugly dressing gown still lies on the far side of the mattress, and she wrestles herself into it. At least the fleece feels good on her freezing nipples, and she wipes her face on one sleeve. All the wooziness from the alcohol still rests in her centre of gravity, but the pleasant feeling is gone now.

Josh stretches out an arm and kills the bedroom lights, and her hand finds the bottle of rosé she left on the night table. The wine is half-empty, not enough to flip her drunkenness, but enough to get the aftertaste out of her mouth. Time to go to sleep.

Inside the sweaty duvet and her sweaty skin, in the black room, her brain goes quiet. _Faris_ , Faris is just a word and a cunt is just what’s between her legs. With that realisation, Josh drifts away.

Except someone raps at her door. And then again, and again.

“Josh?”

Her pillow smells of coconut shampoo and distant sweat. She forgot about Tom.

“Do you want to see me?” Tom could be fucking her ass right now. “I brought you a glass of water and some toast.”

Maybe the bread would sop up some of the woozy alcohol in her stomach. She hates Tom.

“If you’d prefer to be on your own now, please just tell me.” She rather would have gagged and puked on his dick while he had two fingers in each of her holes. “I’ll just come in and leave everything on your night table if you’re asleep.”

Fuck.

Josh shakes her head. “No, no,” she says, but her throat feels parched and gritty when she uses it. “Just leave me alone.” Maybe the water would help lubricate it. “Just leave everything outside my door. I’ll come pick it up.”

“Alright.” Tom exhales, muffled by the door and the wall and Josh’s pillow, still.

She wonders what he’d rather be doing now.

“Do you want me to ring anyone? Dilys?”

“No.” Dilys went out for drinks with Joe and the girls tonight, and Josh would have accepted her invite if she hadn’t received Faris’ first. Besides, Dilys is…

“Mike?”

“Fuck no.” Mike’s been with her boyfriend for almost two years and a half now.

“I get if you’re not on good terms right now, but,” Tom says now. _Fuck, no._ “Are you sure you don’t want me to ring Faris?”

There the knee-jerk response is again, Faris is a cunt, and Josh locks her shoulders and draws the covers tighter around her like he’s a closet monster.

“I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

Josh says, “He’s got his girlfriend to relieve his worries now,” and it comes out like bile. She wants to take it back just as soon.

But from what she knows, Faris’ girlfriend is smarter and quieter and prettier and friendlier than her, with grace and posh pale skin and silky curly hair, and she can play every instrument. And she’s almost ten years older than Josh. Whatever that bodes.

But she doesn’t say any of that.

She says, “Good night, Tom,” and she waits for the footsteps to move away from her bedroom door.

Her insides feel dirty, like black, rotty soil, but she knows it can’t be from the alcohol or the sick. She needs that toast, and finally, Tom walks down the corridor with quiet steps.

Next, Josh waits for the front door to click. But it doesn’t.


End file.
